


Dreams in the Blight

by Rainyday22



Series: Fumbling in the Dark [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainyday22/pseuds/Rainyday22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair keeps a diary to try to stay somewhat sane. Morrigan is looking to aid the wardens in the fight against the blight by understanding their dreams. Alistair is her unwitting subject of experimentation. They both find more than they expected in the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: from Alistair's POV

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, this is the first fic I've posted. I don't have a beta atm so constructive criticism is welcome. Hope you enjoy!

_Excerpts brought together later from Alistair's diary, all events are in the correct order but unrelated events and details have been redacted. The original text has not been altered so at times there will be jumps. Alistair did fill in some details between these, but this may still not make for the easiest reading. These have been denoted in the text by being in_ []. 

So counter to what the so called woman says, I am educated enough to know how to write and read. Writing about myself has never been a skill of mine, so it's easier to write like I'm talking to someone. I'm writing this because I've been convinced by our fearless leader that it would be a good way to keep track of things to tell the story after the blight ends. That's of course assuming it does, and we're able to overcome all the odds. However we have to stay hopeful, and so as a way to remain hopeful I'm going to do as asked. Also it fills the time when I could be worrying about other things I suppose. 

.  
.  
.

I've never seen sleep as a release.. or rather not for many years. Not as an adult. Sleep is a release is for children and innocents. 

Before you wonder, I do sleep at night, and typically rather well. I've learned over time how to block out some of the more mundane calls of the demons. The boring meditation I was forced to learn at the chantry also helped me find a quiet place inside myself. I use that, and plenty of exercise to relax. In a way these activities create the space of mental emptiness that others get when they sleep.

My dreams are not of the pleasant variety, nor do they bring peace. In my dreams I must be on my guard in some ways even more so than in my waking life. This is a part of being a grey warden, and part of my path. I must pay attention to what transpires, and I need to be able to analyse what I have seen. In the past I would bring things that seemed of worth to Duncan, but now since I can't I have even more pressure heaped on me. Knowing how to bring meaning forth from these has never been my strong suit. 

However, since Ostagar and our newest quest my dreams have become even stranger and harder to understand. Also more personal. I have become used to dreams of great events, horrible creatures, and places deep and far away. Rarely are the dreams I have these days my own, creations entirely of my own mind and relating to my own everyday life. I'm still not sure these more personal dreams are my own creation.

.  
.  
.

She's been part of my dreams now for weeks, however, clouded the memories of those dreams on waking. At times I feel like she's just watching over my shoulder as I wander my own inner world. At others it's like I'm watching over hers as she goes about her business in the dream world. The oddest are when it feels she is standing next to me in one of the dreams where I hear the darkness speak. I can never tell how much she understands in those dreams, but I feel like it is often more than I. 

Is she really there? She is a witch. A scary and terrible witch. A creature that the chantry would kill. Oh they would offer a non-violent solution - which they know she would never take - and would then joyfully fight her to the death. It would be long and painful, and the chantry would suffer heavy losses. They would do it anyway if they found her. They would be right to kill her and remove the threat she is from the world. If I were still a Templar I would fulfil my duty to do so. She revolts me. She terrifies me. She haunts my dreams.

.  
.  
.

I've asked myself while going through routines and sparring - the best times to think - about this. What feelings are there to drive such strange dreams. Is there more to it than that? Could she be using her magic to affect my sleep?

As I sparred I made a list. 

She's cruel. She has no honour that I respect. She's the living breathing embodiment of what I have been long taught is wrong and trained to fight. She angers me every time we talk. She puts me down. She will not hold back her opinion on anything. She does not suffer foolishness. 

I am exasperated by this woman. I struggle to see beyond any immediate practical value in battle why she is part of our group. I'm also extremely uncomfortable with how much of my attention she holds. 

The only conclusion I have come to is that it must be because of my Templar training. It's like having the nose of a bloodhound and being forced to sit next to a steak. Of course she is taking over my attention. Noticing her is what I have been trained to do. Nothing more and nothing less.

.  
.  
.

I've been entranced by her fierceness. When we fight she's grace and form. She's rage and heat. She's strong mentally and physically. 

There are moments of quiet in the storm when I'm fighting. My body is at work, and my mind at rest. In those moments I find myself watching her. The relaxed stance she takes when she concentrates. The details I find myself fixating on surprise me. The curl of hair at the nape of her neck. The strength of her arms. Her wicked mouth in a cruel smile. Her eyes dancing with the energy that comes from the chase of a hunt.

That's what she is. A hunter. That's what scares me. She is an expert hunter that knows her prey well. That's where her confidence comes from. But what does she hunt? She's too intelligent to desire a simple hunt for a simple meal. She wouldn't want to hunt game which could not interest her for sport. She is a hunter who desires the satisfaction of a challenging chase. 

The thought makes me shiver. What kind of chase would she enjoy..humans.. sentient beings most likely. That is I think the core of what truly frightens me about her. 

.  
.  
.

I dreamt of her in her animal form. A great cat of the mountains. Soft pads and fur. She hunted by smell and sight and vibration. Hearing things humans cannot. Lithe, and oh so dangerous. I swear I felt the rub of fur on my neck right before I woke. 

.  
.  
.

She's gotten no less sharp with me as the days have gone on. Of course I still argue back. The horrid things she says cannot be endured. I will not give in to her malicious taunts or uncaring philosophies. 

Even worse she has started to use her magic on me. I'm sure I've seen her playing with pins and a doll shaped like me. Doesn't she have better things to do then torment me! 

I have suffered enough pain in life, that what she inflicts on me is a nuisance not debilitating. If I were a lesser man I would have broken by now. 

There is no way to deal with this without direct confrontation. I've accused her of playing with dolls like a little girl, but she only smiles in the sickest yet sweet way and asks if I'd like to join her in her tent if I truly think of her as such a child. The idea makes me sick, which I've not held back telling her. 

.  
.  
.

I can't get the latest argument about the doll out from under my skin. She invited me into her tent again in such an overtly sexual way. I know she does it to illicit this response from me, but it is working. She angers me well past anything I could bear if I had not undergone so much training as a younger man. 

Go in her tent? Go through those dark folds to see what mysterious and strange magics she's concocting? Never. I can smell strange, earthy things from her tent which pique my senses in the strangest ways. No. I will not go near there even to prove to her that I'm more of a man than she could handle.

.  
.  
.

The dreams are getting more frequent and stranger. Of course the blight is coming closer and closer so this is to be expected. I've gotten used to her presence now at least here in my dreams. She never speaks in my dreams. It probably helps. She never argues or comments. It's not as if she even follows me. She's just there watching or vice versa. I have no idea if this is real or my mind slowly untethering from reality as it does fall all grey wardens.

.  
.  
.

[I put off recording the following because I didn't want it to be true for a long time. The order of things is a bit skewed because of this, but I did eventually make the notes below.]

There are other dreams too. Stranger and more difficult. I try to forget them when I wake. At first I was surprised. Now I'm just ashamed. I dream of her. Her. Only her. Not a place. Not as an actor in a dream landscape, or even a silent companion watching the desecration of the land. No. Her. As a woman. All the tiny details I've come to notice. 

Her herby and earthy smell. How her hair shifts color slightly when she's casting different magics. How her lips twitch when she's holding back a laugh. They all are played out. 

I never remember how they start. I never know where they are taking place. Often I have no concept of our surroundings. She still never speaks, though she does communicate. I have dreams of resting on her kissing behind her ear. Breathing is her wonderful smell. I'm inside her slowly thrusting while massaging her breast. She's panting under me. Hips raising to meet my languid thrusts. 

I dream about touching her everywhere while she sits in my lap riding me. Running my fingertips through her hair, over her breasts, gripping her ass, locking my lips to a nipple. Her writhing and moaning while sliding up and down me.

The first time I woke with a start, riding an orgasm with a groan. I was so confused. Then I just tried to put it out of my mind as stress.

The second time it happened I was awoken right as I felt her start to cum. My hard cock and confusion awaking me in the early hours. In my half awake state I could still practically smell her, feel her smooth soft skin against my chest, and her tightness starting to grip me. I sighed through a moan. Shame burned bright and hot but did not relieve my arousal. The only solution in order to sleep or get relief would be to attend to matters myself. I tried to think of other situations, other women. 

These dreams have gotten frequent enough that I'm not sure if I relish or dread them. Either way they come unbidden. I'm still not sure she isn't using magic to affect me even when I sleep.

.  
.  
.

[Sex and relationships are not something I've made much time for in life. The hurts of my childhood left their scars. The chantry certainly didn't encourage sex. As a grey warden there has been little time for getting to know normal people, and even less desire to become embroiled with someone who can never understand. Still there have been a couple of people here and there. 

There was a wonderful farm girl when I was a teenager. I learned a great deal from her. She made it clear from the start she was not going accept me leaving the chantry for her. Over time she revealed that she was in fact promised to another. I was greatly hurt at first, but she lead me to understand that relationships can be complicated. They did marry, but on a occasion she still bedded me, and on rarer ones invited me to the marriage bed. I never thought as a child to see myself in this type of thing. However, as an adult I've viewed this to be the best arrangement for me. It left me free in my life, but with a small corner of comfort. It also opened my eyes to the idea that comfort can take many forms. I've always viewed this as a very formative part of my life and one that was very healing. 

There have been others of less attachment in my life, but as I have moved down my life's path these types of entanglements have not been important to me, and there has been little opportunity. 

Now. Now of all times. The time when I need all my concentration to do my duty I find part of myself desiring a woman I despise. Should despise.] 

.  
.  
.

Things are only getting stranger. The fights during the day require my waking attention, and the strange dreams my sleeping attention. 

I've started to look forward to dreaming of her. It is the only time when my focus is on something besides the immediate survival of myself and my companions. I no longer care if she is manipulating me through magic. I cannot be tormented by being allowed to possess something I desire.

I am sure I'm starting to go down the winding path of the grey wardens early. Perhaps it's the closeness of the blight. Perhaps it's Morrigan's magic. Perhaps I was never truly mentally well. I do not know. In those dreams and here are the only moments away from it all.


	2. Chapter 2: Alistair's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's next diary entry.

[I wrote the following as soon as I was able to put pen to paper. The stress of the situation was seriously getting me at that stage, and it was the best creative outlet I had at the time. Also I was so confused I thought if I made an accurate record of events I could then re-read it later to figure out what the hell was going on.]

We held back as she crept around a corner to pick off one undead creature.. to draw it's attention to us so we could over power it. I found myself distracted from the matter at hand and instead following the curve of her behind and hips, the crook of her elbow. 

She she started to curse at rotting corpse shambling towards us and I realized I was hard.

Uncomfortable, hard, and ashamed of myself. Ashamed for being aroused by someone so inappropriate, being aroused in public, letting my mind wander. 

I was so angry. I lunged at the creature beheading it quickly. I found my focus again through my anger. Morrigan taunted me for being a show-off afterwards. She suggested I was brash and dull witted for pushing so hard when there were others to rely on. 

For once I found myself unable to fight with her. My mouth so full of bile. I could only grit my teeth at her and walk away. 

Thankfully we were camped by a river and could go wash the day off as well as cool down. I was on the edge of loosing my control. I'm not sure my control over what, but knew I needed to get alone quickly. 

I grunted I was going to bathe to the others. Each in their own way I could see felt the anger coming off of me. No on stopped me. The other warden said, "just be back for dinner or we'll come looking for you" before ducking into her own tent.

I found a good pool and shed my armour to the ground. I forced myself to place it as I had been trained in case I needed it quickly. I grunted as I pulled off my trousers and shirt putting them over a tree branch.

I ran my fingers through my hair and over my face. Stubble was starting. What am I doing? Why am I so upset? That woman? I half laughed half grunted to myself. 

I dove into the river. Cold. I surfaced for air. The cold water partly pounding the breath from me and partly bringing me back into my body and out of my head. I swam to warm myself. It was good to swim after a day like today. Get some of the muscles stretched out and relaxed. The quiet, the movement, and the cold brought me back. 

We all have bad days, we all get overwhelmed, I told myself. You fear the blight, your place, and for your companions. I had come to realize that all of them had become a strange new family for me. I chuckled again. Even Morrigan. Like the cousin you hate.

Might was well deal with this stubble I thought since I'm here. I reached for my belongings and found my razor. I've shaved in worse situations, and I haven't needed a mirror since I was at the chantry. 

As a brought the straight razor towards my chin a soft voice behind me said, "You'd shave it now when it finally adds something to your so called face?"

She scared the shit out of me. It took everything in me not to either drop the razor into my bare crotch or jump up brandishing it as a weapon. My peace was shattered. I was naked, cold, and exhausted and here she was making fun of me. I was NAKED for maker's sake.

I know I couldn't help stiffening when she spoke. Well I might as well play the game. She did probably think she won the last round, and I needed to disabuse her of that notion. 

"What would you know of men's face Morrigan? Ever been close enough to one to know what does or doesn't add to one? Though I suppose perhaps you've put one under a spell to get close enough before."

She was close. Closer than I'd thought. How had she gotten so close without me noticing? She was close enough I heard the tiny hitch in her breathe before she answered me. 

"Cast a spell on a man? Why would I bother with such a thing. Men have very few uses that a woman cannot perform better or for herself sufficiently."

"Well what use do you have of me then Morrigan? You knew I was here alone bathing after a hard day. What could you possibly need from me that you cannot do yourself?" I still hadn't started to shave, but I hadn't turned to face her either.

She snorted. "I came to answer a question for myself."

"Oh? Well ask it woman and leave me be. I'm sure you enjoy causing me to sit wet and naked and cold for as long as possible, but I would like to get back to eat before the moon rises."

"Your right." She was even closer now. Directly over my right shoulder. I couldn't feel her body heat or or breathe, but she must be just out of range for that. She was almost whispering. "I am enjoying that you are sitting here wet and naked. I'm surprised that you are. I could draw the conclusion you don't want to dress or leave while I'm still here with you."

It was almost a purr how she said, still here with you. I shivered just a little. I felt heat in my cheeks and a stir in my lap. 

No.

Not now. Not while I'm naked and she's standing behind me tormenting me.

I must have stiffened even more. That was my only answer to her.

This time her laugh had lost some of the hard edge and was a little breathier. "All right Alistair, as you demand I will answer my question."

"What? Be straight forward for once!" Loosing my patience overcoming my embarrassment at the situation. 

Without warning a hand was in my hair gently but firmly pulling my head to the side exposing my neck. Something wet dragged from my shoulder over my collarbone up my neck and up behind my ear. Her breath was hot and the trail she left cold making me shiver. She was pulling my hair still. A big handful at the back. Not painful.. stimulating actually. I'm so surprised I didn't reacted at all to her. I would have expected myself to throw her into the river, cut her with the razor, shout. Something.

Instead my partial arousal increased and I heard my own sharp intake of breath. "Oh" I said, living up to her accusations of cleverness once again. 

Her tongue slid around my ear and she sucked on my ear lobe. I didn't want her to stop. I didn't care I was cold any more. 

"Morrigan.." was she finding another way to torment me? Causing me twisted ankles, migraines, and hurt pride weren't enough?

"Enough Morrigan!" Though I didn't pull away and she didn't stop. 

"You torment me as if you were a child pulling the legs off a spider. You may not add this to your long list of ways to grind me down!" This time I did try to pull way from her, and she pulled my hair firmly back. I'm not sure why I let her. I could have physically overpowered her quite easily. Instead I felt her pull my head back brushing over her breasts so, though upside down, I was looking into her eyes.

I was lost in them for a moment. That energy of the hunter was there. Dilated pupils. She was hot on the trail of her prey. She was close, very close to it, and she would not be put off now. My hard cock jerk and my breath hitched. I was right. She was hunting man. Me. I suddenly felt like a small rabbit as a hungry fox's jaws were coming towards it.

I licked my lips just a little and her eyes quickly darted to the movement. Then her lips were covering mine. Her tongue just gently ghosting over my upper lip. I couldn't stop the tiny moan or the shiver that ran through me. She stopped as quickly as she'd started.

I realized my head was under my own control again. I lifted it forward again. Her body heat was fading away. "Morrigan.." and I heard the flutter of wings. A large raven flew off into the dusky shadows of the trees.

I could feel everywhere she'd touched me like my skin was on fire. I touched my neck just to make sure she hadn't hexed me. No. The skin was fine. It was my reaction. My cheeks were flushed. My cock was so hard it felt like it was going to burst. A memory flashed by of my farm girl tying me up in her bed, and then her beau coming home. I was humiliated and scared. She of course had set it up. The two of them had played with me, teased me, fucked me, fucked on me, and drove me out of my mind. Morrigan reminded my cock or being driven senseless. 

I sighed. Humiliated further by her than before or no I couldn't go back in this state. I ran my left hand through my hair teasing my scalp where she'd only moments before been touching it. I ran my fingers over my lips thinking about how she felt and tasted. I took matters into my own hands. My cock thick and hard filling my right hand. I used the left to touch all the places she had just touched me lighting the fire again. I imagined those eyes looking up at me from between my legs. That tongue on the inside of my thighs along with her kisses. I came hard onto the ground in front of me. I'm beyond confused now, but at least my cock is starting to soften. I rinsed off again, decided shaving can wait another day, dress and went back to camp.


	3. Chapter 3: Morrigan's POV

_Morrigan's view the tale running more or less concurrent to Alistair's_

There are many secrets that a sorcerer keeps. We each have our own internal language that we use to do our magic and to cast spells. This is not because of the fact that we are inherently power hungry and self serving. It is because the paths to tap into our talents are as individual as fingerprints. 

The path to power is one of constant study and dedication. We are often extremely academic because we have to be. Keeping notes is a very common way for us to remember things. We do so much experimentation that notes are very useful to go back through even years later. 

Magical theory can be discussed, but the actual mechanisms through which magic is achieved are rarely able to be understood by another or taught well enough between sorcerers. 

Even Flemeth kept notes in her younger days. As she got older she had accumulated enough experience and knowledge that these became quite unnecessary for her. She did allow me as a youngster to look through them before she burnt them. They of course made no sense to me. Nor would they likely ever. Sorcerers can rarely read and understand the notes of another for the aforementioned reasons. 

I thank the fates regularly that I was brought up by Flemeth and not as a Circle Mages. Their dreary lectures to try and force all of their charges to fit one mould would have been endlessly frustrating. I wonder what Flemeth would have done with me if I hadn't had the talent though. I asked her once as a teenager. She told me in short once again not to ask questions that did not need answers and wasted time. 

Though Flemeth's and my goodbye was short, it was as touching as things got between us. I know she wanted me to spread my wings as it were, and felt that I could learn little more from her then.

She may have seemed a cold mother, but she was always upfront about answering my questions and teaching me. She held little stock in romantic love. She did teach me about how the mechanics of sex, and as from her perspective the important parts of relationships between men and women. 

She explained about sexual pleasure, and that as a woman there would very likely be a time when I would like to seek it out with another person. She again warned me about the pitfalls of love, but never gave me cause to think of sex and sexual pleasure as something for me to avoid. She did teach me that many people can be manipulated through sex and the promise of love. She taught me to be one these people would be not only be weak, but would likely lead to my own destruction. 

Many I'm sure would find it strange, but I had no direct experiences of a sexual nature in my formative years. These were of course before leaving the Wildes. I had witnessed many sexual acts. I had certainly seen what the animals of the forests do, and I had also watched through animal eyes what humans do. Often when drunk.

I had plenty of time to explore my own body, and until travelling with the wardens felt no need to share my body with another nor any inclination for anther to share theirs. One could argue, of course, that I had never been in a position where this could be possible. This may be true. There is no way to prove it or disprove it. 

The point of this is that sex had for me never been of consequence for me. If I needed release I gave myself release, and then went back to whatever I was working on previously. 

Being with the wardens led me to my first big project outside of Flemeth's influence.

On many occasions Alistair accused me of either trying or actually manipulating him with magic. This is of course true. Why I choose him is very simple. 

Firstly I thought him too stupid to notice all but the grossest of manipulations (which as far as I'm aware was in fact true). Secondly the course of my investigations needed a subject such as himself. I only had two choices of subject, and the other was our leader. She was too intelligent and too vital to possibly hinder with my experimentations. Even Flemeth would have said not meddle with her. Alistair on the other hand.. well would anyone really miss him if I accidentally, irrevocably altered his personality? I couldn't really make him more unbearable to be around. 

Flemeth sent me with the two wardens to aid them in their quest against the blight. Even we, people of the Wildes and the edges of the earth, agree that the blight would be the end of all life. I concurred with Flemeth's position that they would need the help. Again she was right in that it allowed me the opportunity to escape the Wildes in a far safer way than any other alternative to hand. 

Being around Alistair caused me to see why so many of Flemeth's reactions to me as a child were what they were. His constant stupid questions, his ideas about being involved in other people's business, and his incessant desire to help the weak was nauseating. How the warden didn't slap him every time he spoke to her was beyond me. 

As I was stuck with the idiot, I took every pleasure possible in needling him. His accusations about the doll were entirely true as well. Oh the fun I had with that! 

However, he had some use. 

To fight the blight I could see we would need all the information we could get. The warden's were conduits for the archdemon's communications even when the warden's themselves didn't understand them. These came to the wardens in dreams, which when retold were extremely hard to derive meaning from. I found myself frustrated with this, and wishing I could have the source matter first hand. 

After mulling over the matter I decided the best way to do this was to search for the magical paths in the Fade which connected the archdemon and the wardens. Then if possible to use those paths to follow the warden through their dreams. I could then observe these communications first hand.

By using the warden as a shield it would be unlikely that the archdemon could sense me and I could see things as the warden did. Of course “looking” directly at the archdemon would glean more and better information, but that would be deadly. It would be extremely stupid to follow the paths to the archdemon as I am not looking to be demon snacks even in the fade. 

Alistair was actually a better choice of subject because he had been a warden far longer than our leader. This meant that the paths in the Fade would be more entrenched and stronger. This would make them easier to find, and less likely to bring me to the attention of the archdemon when I tread on them. Think of them like strands of spider web or a tight walker's rope. The thicker the fibers the less noticeable vibrations on them. The new thin strands of our leader's links would be more like a spider's web, while Alistair's would be more like a bridge. 

This plan though simple sounding would be very complex to actually undertake. 

Firstly there would be finding a path to link the warden and myself in the Fade. This task took weeks. The first time I was able to find Alistair in the Fade I wasn't able to follow him. It was only at that moment did I realise there was more to Alistair than it appeared on the surface. His mental defences were very good. I had expected it would be easy once I found him to just walk all over his mind. I was surprised that it was nothing like that. His mind was a fortress and no direct assault allowed me in.

In time I realised this was in fact due to his training as a Templar and as a grey warden. The wardens had to get used to the dreams they had and still get rest. This was best done by having as much control over their minds as possible. 

This was the first interesting thing Alistair had ever done as far as I was concerned. After a week of trying all night each night to find a crack to get in, I even considered asking him for permission. Then I thought better of it. He would never actually allow an “evil witch” like me into his sleeping mind. Even for the sake of the world as we know it. No. I would just have to find another way in.


	4. Chapter 4: Morrigan's POV

_Morrigan's view the tale running more or less concurrent to Alistair's_

Once I realised that I would not by direct assault be able to use Alistair’s mind I took a number of days off to recharge my own mental reserves and to consider how to move forward.

After reviewing all the tactics I had used so far I concluded that I should treat him less like an enemy and like I would treat an animal in the Wildes that I wanted to tame. This could take an extremely long time I knew, but it was the only other option I had without destroying his mind in the process. 

I noticed that it had become a little easier to find him in the Fade each time after the first time. It was like I was getting to know what he “smelled” like for lack of a better descriptive term. I would start the my sessions by sniffing him out. By intuition it was becoming easier to find him.

Next I noticed that if I wasn't directly attacking him it was very easy to loose the thread. Part of his defences was to blend into the background and to keep moving in the Fade. All creatures do this to an extent, but he did it very subtlety and quickly. The first task of my new plan after finding him was keeping track of him.

I spent a number of weeks just learning to track him effectively in the Fade. After about a month of this I could reasonably reliably stay within a certain distance of him. This was the first time I started to feel my plan might work after all, but I didn't dare to take a break and loose any concentration even if the meditative state I used wasn't as good as real sleep. 

Next I spent time working on getting closer to him. I wanted to appear to his defences to not be a cause for alarm. If he got used to my presence then perhaps he would let down his guard. After a couple more weeks of this I saw that I was in fact able to get closer without all the walls closing up, but I also realised that I would in fact truly have to be no threat to him.

Bizarrely as this time passed I found myself not actually wanting to be a threat to him. I respected him now far more than I had before. His waking self was still a complete asshole, but I could see that there was strength in him and he would be useful in stopping the blight. I started to wonder what else I would find if I ever could get free reign of his mind. 

As more time passed I was able to get closer and closer. Eventually I was able to touch the walls of his defense without him closing up, and then one final night I was able to cross them.

I wasn’t like I would have expected it to be. I was more like walking through mist than the stone wall I had imagined.

Even inside the walls there were many defences. It really was like a fortress. There were guards patrolling along the outside walls and down the corridors. I was sorely tempted to explore, but the ominous nature of the guards told me that it could be very deadly for me to go where I was not welcome. This was the first time I felt scared. All his guards had his face, and they all had weapons drawn. They unlike the walls did see me though didn’t' acknowledge me. So far since the walls had allowed me in and I wasn't a threat the guards would let me be. 

I needed to find the threads of his dreams. This is what I came for, and just watching them shouldn't set the guards off I hoped. As long as I watched and didn't interfere I should be safe.

Finding Alistair's dreams in his own mental fortress in the Fade, which itself is inherently a dream makes no logical sense of course. This is part of why sorcerers can't explain anything even to each other well. This analogy is the best one I have for the magical work I undertook regarding this matter. 

I count myself very lucky that it only took a week of searching to find the first thread of a dream in Alistair's fortress. It is possible I could have spent years doing this, or tripped over something that would have alerted the guards to me. In some ways looking back on this project I was very naïve and stupid. I didn't know that the magic I undertook had as many risks I now know it did. Also even in success I was seriously underestimating Alistair as an adversary in the Fade. I was extremely vulnerable in wandering Alistair's mind the way I did. I didn't know it but I was one step from death had his mind reacted badly to me. 

I think what saved me was that I had consciously realized I did not want to be threat to him before I was able to breach his walls. I think he would have killed me in self defence had I had any other intention at that time. Someone like Flemeth probably could have lied to a victim in that state, but I did not have that strength or power to do so.

I found that searching for the threads of the archdemon was neigh on impossible compared to just finding the thread of a dream at first. Again this really does make sense when I look back on it. His mind shielded those threads the most to protect itself. 

In the end I just worked to find any dream and then follow any thread in his dream to the next dream wandering a step behind him. I had planned not to interact in his dreams for safety, but honestly the work of finding and keeping track of the threads took so much of my energy I would only have been able to interact in his dreams if my life were at risk. In a case like that have been much safer to drop the threads and to as quietly as possible remove myself from his mind anyway.

Now the work became the grind. I was able to take a few nights break now and find him in the Fade again easily, but I still hadn't seen any communications from the archdemon. I knew he had heard some because he had complained about strange dreams to the warden who had echoed his thoughts more than once. There were times though that only he had strange dreams and they agreed that perhaps they didn't get the same one at times. I wondered if his waking self was becoming aware of my presence to some degree. 

The vast majority of his dreams were mundane. Very mundane. Undertaking daily tasks like chopping wood and caring for horses was a common one. I wondered why this was. For a man with such strong mental walls, there had to be something worth protecting in there right? Chopping wood couldn't be it could it?

The night I was seriously considering giving up because I couldn't watch him shop anymore wood was the first night I felt a thread to the archdemon. It was very close to where I stood which helped. It was dark and hot and vile. I happened to be near the surface of his dream this time and I was able to follow it away from the man endlessly chopping wood. 

In this dream it wasn't like I was watching from behind him for once, but actually standing next to him. It was awesome and terrifying. The archdemon was a great smoke black dragon. Screaming and scorching his hordes. The Alistair I stood next too was in fine grey warden armour, but the visor of his helmet was open. He looked on stony faced. It was like he watched every move the dragon made and was trying to count how many dark spawn were below it. It was the most calculating look I have ever seen on his face. I was struck by how much like a king of old he looked in that position.

The dragon continued to roar, and I gave the scene my attention again. That was after all why I was here. The scene did not last long and the thread dissolved in my hands. I fell out of Alistair's dreams then, but I had found what I had come for. 

I was at once elated for finally having success and dejected that I at first glance could make no more of scene than the wardens could in their discussions of the archdemon.

I did not sleep the rest of that night, but instead made many detailed notes and sketches of what I had witnessed.


	5. Chapter 5: Morrigan's POV

_Morrigan's view the tale running more or less concurrent to Alistair's_

The morning after my first success I overheard the tail end of the wardens low conversation about their dreams of the night before. It appeared that what I had managed to catch was one of the worst either had had in many weeks. Neither could decide if this was a good or bad omen, but either way the call of the archdemon had been loud. 

I for one was glad it had occurred because now that knew what I was looking for I felt confident I could find it again. Could I find it if Alistair's mind wasn't also watching the dream, that was another matter.

I'm glad I never truly tried to find the answer to this, because I think it would have been seen by his mind as an offensive action and also could very well have drawn the attention of the archdemon. What I know now is that the archdemon knew the wardens just as the wardens knew it. Using the Alistair as a shield was in fact the only safe way there was for me to view the archdemon at all, and if the archdemon had really wanted to “look” at Alistair it would have seen me in a moment. Once again I was monumentally stupid in executing my little plan. To tread where I did without even telling Alistair put me at an even greater risk. I blush even now thinking about it. Flemeth would have thrashed me.

The next few weeks I followed these new threads. I learned more of the mechanisms necessary to trace these dreams, and once I had found these threads I found more of Alistair's dream threads. His dreams were not just of horses and cutting wood. There were other things he dreamed of, but they were behind another set of walls that I didn't even know existed until I had gotten behind them the night of the first archdemon's message.

He dreamed of a woman and a lord who each took care of him as a child, though never at the same time. He dreamt of a blond woman with blue eyes, and a dark haired man, and children that surrounded them. I found those dreams confusing. There was joy and regret in those dreams. Not physically but, more like if the feelings had scents the dreams smelled of them. Occasionally the children weren't in them and all three were younger. In those dreams the woman and the man would make love to each other. Sometimes Alistair would watch them and other times the couple would make love with him. I found these dreams extremely curious, and exciting. I never thought of Alistair as a sexual creature, nor as a man that would find satisfaction in another man. The three talked of love, and happiness. Sometimes he dreamt of goodbyes to all or some of these people. Those were overwhelmed with the stench of sadness. 

I began to wonder how much of these dreams was fantasy and how much was true. None of these people were ones he seemed to speak of. Though when I really thought about it Alistair rarely actually talked about his past or people he knew intimately.

I became more and more curious about him. There was much more depth to Alistair than I had once thought, and I doubted many saw it. 

Had I more experience in life at that point I might have seen my own folly. I did not though, and thought only of sating my curiosity in this matter as I sated my curiosity in all matters. Through careful and exhaustive study. This was what Flemeth had taught me, and at no point in my life previously had I come to think these was any fault in this methodology. 

At this stage a number of months had passed and I reviewed my project.

I could reliably find Alistair in the Fade.

I could pass through his outter walls of defence.

I could find his threads of dreams personally and to the archdemon as long as his mind was also following them.

This was great success.

I was slowly amassing a file of all the dreams he had pertaining to the darkspawn. There were actually a great number of them. Most of them did not in fact have the archdemon in them. Those were loudest and strongest, but was I could only call grumblings of the underlings also made it through to Alistair. I felt certain in these grumblings were hints of their activities and what the future held if I could just find them.

I did not discount the warden's interpretations of their dreams, even Alistair's. I could see with their eyes, but I was coming to think that there was something in their senses that I could never achieve. Maybe some intuition of theirs could lead me to uncovering some secret.

Time was passing and understanding the darkspawn was not progressing. What had at some point become my side project of basically spying on Alistair was becoming more interesting. 

Again something I did not learn for a long time was that this was probably around the time when things shifted between Alistair and I. Not in our waking relationship, but in the Fade. I did not look for this, nor notice it until it was far too late to stop. My constant work on finding Alistair in the fade night after night, pouring my energy and magic into my project created between he and I a thread. Much like I followed his dream threads and those that connected him to the archdemon I created a threat from myself to him. 

By spending so much time with his mind to lull it into security I had in fact done the same thing to my own mind. My defences were so used to his mind that they did not see him as threat.

He is not like me and cannot work magic even in the Fade. However, he does have a lot of nosy guards wandering around his sleeping mind. It was a matter of time before one decided to follow the bridge back to me. I don't know the first time this happened. Probably not the second or even the third. I do know that at some point I was conscious that he was present in a dream of mine. Not fully awake like I was when I intruded on him, but he had wandered down a dream thread and was here with me. 

The first time I thought did not matter. I was dreaming I was shifted into a mountain lion and was hunting. I always love the dreams where I am shifted. It's all the fun with none of the work. I saw him through the eye of the great cat. At first I thought it very strange to dream him of all people into this landscape. Then I realised he was in fact not part of my dream. He was here in his own dream. Well as I was not in his mind I decided to experiment by interacting with him. I rubbed my great cat weight against him just like a tabby would do only much larger. I was tall enough to flick my tail across his face and neck. Just after that he disappeared.

Oh if a cat could laugh!

Now there was another change around this time. I did say our relationship didn't change in waking life then, and that is true. Something did change for me though. I started to see Alistair as more than his annoying, boisterous waking self. I saw the man that made passionate love. I saw that man that hoped some of the children he saw in that family were his. I saw other memories of his childhood. Painful ones, joyful ones. 

I had so little experience with the world, relationships, and particularly men. 

I started to respect him for doing his duty even when it asked too much of him. I saw the reasons doing his duty had been drilled into him and why he felt he had to do it. I even started to feel pity for him when hurts were doled out him, not to teach a lesson, but just to hurt him.

In waking life I started to notice him. Now I know that you would describe this as noticing him as a man. Then I just found him an object of my curiosity in a way no one else had ever been. 

In the dreams where he made love he wasn't quite physically the man he was now. He was younger in those. It was clear his shoulders were broader now and he carried himself in subtlety different ways. I found myself wanting to see what he looked like now making love. I finally had the feelings my mother promised me I would have. I wanted to share the body of another to sate my own sexual desires.


End file.
